


Picking Locks

by CmonCmon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Competence Kink, Drinking, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Lock Picking, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CmonCmon/pseuds/CmonCmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen watches the Inquisitor pick a lock and has other ideas.  </p><p>I don't know, it's a silly thing and I wrote it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picking Locks

“C’mon, Krem.” The Iron Bull’s voice bounced off the rafters in the tavern. The big Qunari’s second-in-command struggled his way through the drinking crowd, wrestling with a chest big enough to fit three dwarves in full armor.

“You could have just smashed the lock.” Evelyn sat back to watch as Bull rose from his seat and took the trunk from his lieutenant and tucked it under one hulking arm.

“If it’s that easy for you, why send him to get it?” Varric asked as Bull thumped the chest down hard enough the rough-hewn table protested, and the peas jumped off Cullen’s plate and scattered.

“Got to keep the Chargers strong, don’t it?” Bull slapped Krem’s back hard enough to stagger the smaller man. Cullen had the impression he was the only one who had come to the tavern to eat, not drink.

Commander Cullen took most of his meals at his desk. If he had made a sufficient dent in the mountains of paperwork, he might find a seat with his soldiers, and attempt to prove to them he just might be human. On rare occasion, he would be required to dine in the hall, to use the correct fork and make small talk.

He had worked through his meal, missed dinner with his men, and the hall was nearly deserted. When he had considered slipping down to the tavern for a hot meal and a mug of beer, he had not expected this.

“If I smashed it, we wouldn't get to bet on who can get it open.” Bull patted the fist-sized iron lock like a good mabari.

“And who exactly do you imagine betting against our fine Inquisitor?” Dorian’s speech was just a little clumsy, and his eyes a little too bright. Cullen had watched the skinny mage put away three mugs of Maker only knew what while Cullen had finished his own meal - minus the peas. “Not me, to be sure. I've seen her work before. Certainly not our dashing Commander.”

Dorian’s smile was pure wickedness under his now-crooked mustache, and Cullen felt himself blush. He pushed his plate away and rose with his drink in his hand. It was obvious the others were out to have a good time. The four of them had been traipsing across the Exalted Plains for more than a week. They deserved to have the night.

“You’re leaving?” Evelyn looked up from her pick set and Cullen found himself rooted to the spot. It was rare he found himself the sole focus of her attention anywhere outside the war room and those times the fate of Thedas lay marked out between them. 

Unless they were on the battlements. 

His gaze dropped from hers, but snagged on her lips before he could make a reply. Cullen felt the blush spread to the back of his neck.

“Stick around, Curly.” Varric grinned up from his seat on the bench. “Bet you five silver she can’t get the lock open before that guy at the bar finishes his drink.”

“We don’t know how much is left in his mug.” Cullen didn't care about the bet, but he was thankful for a reason to stay.

“That’s why they call it gambling.”

Cullen looked over to Evelyn again, watching her lean closer to examine the lock. 

“You’re on.” He didn't care about the man at the bar and his drink, but he would be glad to pay up for a reason to simply stare at Evelyn.

“Maybe it’s full of treasure.” Bull spoke mostly to himself, as the Inquisitor reached out to grip the lock.

Cullen didn't care what was in the chest. His eyes were locked on Evelyn’s sure hands, one cupping the lock firmly in her palm, two fingers looped around to rest on the tension wrench. Her gaze was steady, intent on the lock, her lips parted and the corners turned down in focus. Maker, he wanted her to look at him like that. 

Maker, he wanted her.

There was the rest of it - the bulk of it - his respect for her, his admiration. He enjoyed her company, her wry sense of humor and sometimes-bladed observations. Watching her suck her lower lip into her mouth, his hand tensed around his mug.

She leaned closer, her broad shoulders shifting as she rested one elbow on the table and began to work at the lock. Her attention was precise, deliberate. He couldn't tear his gaze away. She blew out a slow breath as she moved another pin. His body’s reaction was immediate, and embarrassing. He was a grown man, Maker’s breath, a former Templar. He was not a green boy who had never seen a woman before. 

Evelyn made a small sound in her throat, a little growl, and his mind went even further from the moment. That sound could have been made in any number of other circumstances, and his imagination was more than willing to suggest a half-dozen. 

She smiled as another pin clicked. A slow, sinful sort of smile. 

Andraste save him. 

Dorian said something Cullen tuned out, and Evelyn shook her head with a laugh. Cullen would have tried to catch the conversation, but he was no good for their playful banter.

“Almost there,” Evelyn spoke but kept her eyes on her work. He was there, wholly and completely there. “Ah.” She grinned as she found the right spot. The lock popped, hanging open from the front of the trunk. 

Bull thumped his mug down in approval, and Dorian gave it a polite clap. 

“Okay there, Curly?” Varric’s eyes were far too knowing. “Don’t look too happy for a guy who just won himself a few silver.”

Silver? Cullen glanced around to see the party’s eyes on his. He blushed darkly enough to match his cape.

“That was hot, right?” Bull asked, his one eye glinting.

“It was-- it is a very - uh, impressively skilled work.” Cullen caught the silver the dwarf flicked across the table to him. “Let this, uh-- it can pay the next round.” The Commander slammed the coin to the table with more force than he intended, drawing Evelyn’s gaze.

“Good evening, Inquisitor.” Cullen’s voice was too low, too rough to argue he had been unaffected by the show. He watched surprise and concern war on her face, and cursed himself as the Maker’s own fool. 

“Off to his bunk.” Bull teased, his fingers playing with the mage’s hair.  
“To continue some paperwork, I am most certain.” Dorian joined in. 

Commander Cullen was a military man. He clearly didn't know better to think he had a reason to be in the tavern, though he had certainly learned. At least he knew when retreat was the only option remaining.


End file.
